


Devour

by Woofemus



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all deal with it in their own ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eren

He is hungry.

 

It's only something he's barely noticed. Everything is a blur of events after Trost that he didn't have any time to think about anything other than whether he was going to live or not. Now that he's allowed to live for just a little bit longer, he doesn't have as many worries. It finally hits him when he has some time to himself, unable to avoid it any longer.

It's the only thing he's aware of, nowadays. He's so hungry, that even when he spoons the stew in front of him and swallows it, it offers no relief. If anything, it seems to make it worse. It burns down his throat and he nearly chokes himself. His stomach growls angrily as if retaliating. He wants to throw it back up, but he forces it back down.

It makes him so angry. Food is already scarce enough as it is, and he knows he needs to eat to keep his strength up, can't afford to be picky, but his body seems to reject everything. It growls again, as if asking why. Inside, he feels like there's something roaring, sounding suspiciously like his Titan, starving for something he isn't even sure of. He pushes the feeling down. He slowly finishes the rest of his stew, disappointed at the lack of meat.

 

It's gnawing inside of him, like a slow burn that's eating away at him. He curls within himself, clutching at his stomach. It's so painful, being hungry all the time, aching for something he knows he shouldn't. He can't look at anyone without the urge getting stronger with each passing day, every hour, every second. He has to restrain himself, has to try not to stare when anyone passes him, has to concentrate on trying not to salivate at any mention of meat.

He wants to eat, but if he eats another piece of bread, he's going to throw it up instead. Even if they laid out the finest feast in front of him, he wouldn't have been able to stomach any of it. Unless they had meat. Not just any meat though. Something red, nice and bloody, where he can trace every line of muscle with his eyes, maybe still attached to the human--

His mind is hazy with desire and pain. His stomach feels like it's starting to eat itself instead. It's as if he's being stabbed from inside out, a fire searing him slowly, painfully. He's gone a few days without food before, but it never hurt as much as this. It's all he can think about now. It's howling, the Titan screaming in fury, agony, and desperation.

Before he knows it, he's holding his arm to his mouth, his teeth just a few inches from it. He wants to just sink his teeth into, rip it apart, drink the blood, see the bone underneath his skin, look at all the meat, _just a little it'll regenerate anyway --_

He wrenches his arm away, curling even deeper within himself. He's sweating. It's hot. He can calm himself down, but his hunger only increases.

 

He takes a walk around town. He doesn't know how many days it's been, the days melding into each other. He's getting better at ignoring it though, controlling it. It became a lot easier once he accepted it. Even still, it haunts his every thought. He'll never be able to get away.

Somehow, he finds himself in the middle of an alley, unfamiliar faces sneering at him. He's surrounded. They look like regular thugs that plague the towns. No one would miss them if anything happened. He looks around, counting. Four of them. _Four._ Their clothes are tattered, knives dull, bodies thin. There are  _four_ of them. He looks at them with half-lidded eyes, greed and lust clouding them. His appetite is ravenous. He smiles, licking his lips, drool falling from his chin. _Eat, tear them apart, feast, **devour** _ \-- the Titan roars victoriously amidst the screams.

 

Eren swallows the piece of flesh, licking his bloodied hands. He is no longer hungry.


	2. Annie

It's something that's become second nature to her.

When she looks up, her eyes inevitably land on the single decoration she has in her room, the calendar, marking off the days with her eyes. There's no actual marks, since it'd be too conspicuous. She can't trust anyone here to keep her privacy. It also isn't as if she can't keep track of them in her head anyway, especially when it comes to _this_. She moves her eyes back to the knife she's sharpening, her eyes sharp and focused despite the hunger plaguing her mind.

Tomorrow. It would be tomorrow. Her stomach growls in agreement.

 

 

At night, when she knows the rest of the military police are out indulging themselves as they always are, she makes her move. The thud of her boots echo loudly, almost deliberately, as she walks down the empty alley that's littered with abandoned buildings. She's made sure no one will be here tonight to bother her. Her target's in front of her, stumbling drunkenly around, as he always is at this time. When he sees her, he staggers toward her instead, a wide grin on his face. Since no one is around to look at her, she openly displays her disdain and disgust.

He's in front of her, his breath smelling of liquor, his face a half smile and half smirk, leering down at her. Since she's not too tall, her height makes everyone underestimate her, which is working to her advantage right now. Really though, the man is so drunk that if she put a knife on the floor, he'd probably kill himself instead. But that would take too long, and she only has so long to enjoy her meal, so she needs to act now.

When he leans down to put his face into her shoulder, she rears back, bringing her elbow up, knocking against his chin, drinking in the sound of his bones breaking. His balance is already so precarious that he just falls down with a groan, the alcohol numbing the pain of having his jaw broken and the fall. She presses her boot to his throat, pressing it slowly, unable to stop her smirk as he begins to wheeze, thrashing weakly. Eventually, she stops and crouches down, taking the knife she's prepared, and with a swift and sure motion, slits his throat.

Or she's about to, when she hesitates at the last second. Unfortunately, she doesn't stop in time and the knife still cuts into the man's skin deep enough to wound but not kill, blood sliding down onto the dirty ground. She blinks confusedly, staring at her hand with a frown. She's never hesitated before.

He starts to gurgle, choking on his own blood and spit, the sound making her return to the task at hand. It's a nasty sight, and she doesn't want to listen to him, nor does she want to risk anyone hearing them on an off chance so she finishes the job.

She drags the body deeper into the alley, even if it's the dead of the night. She undresses the man, unable to stop from swallowing loudly when she sees the naked flesh, tantalizing her in the moonlight. As she looks over his body, she wonders where to start, swallowing again to keep in her saliva. Before she knows it, her hand is on the man's belly, pressing it slightly. Ah. So the innards for now then.

She bisects him with her knife, exposing his guts. It's a shame sometimes that she can't use her swords to slice him up into smaller pieces because it would make things easier, but she can't risk the chance of surprise inspections by the probable one competent officer running around, not that she's seen one yet. When she's done, the smell of blood is in the air, her heart pounding excitedly despite having done this so many times before. She reaches inside, ready to satisfy her hunger.

She stops suddenly, an odd feeling hitting her. She feels nauseous and absolutely disgusted. That's a strange feeling. This hasn't happened before as well. As strange as it comes, it's suddenly gone. She shrugs, putting it away for later, and pulls her hand out slowly, gripping a part of the intestine. It's soft, so warm, so _fresh_ , that she can't help licking her lips. She's about to bite into it when it hits her again. She drops the organ, the sickening squelch seeming to echo in the alley. What's wrong with her? She picks up the organ again, putting it near her mouth, her eyes going to the man's face as a sideway glance.

She pauses when his face seems to distort. Before she knows it, she's staring at him in horror, gaping widely, her hands slack as she's frozen.

It could have been anyone. It eventually becomes everyone: Eren, a look of surprise on his face. Marco, with half of his face gone smiling at her. Armin, resigned as if he's accepted his fate. Mikasa, always with that challenging look to her. Mina, staring at her with a betrayed and accusing look --

She backs away, hitting the wall, panting. She wants to throw up, but she doesn't want to, knows she can't, holding her mouth tightly with her hands. She closes her eyes, shaking her head. _It's not any of you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm **sorry but I need to** \-- _

She thinks about her father's words.

Eventually, her breathing evens out. When she looks at the dead body in front of her, her face is blank. The face of a dead drunk man stares back at her. She goes back to him, lifting the organ once again. She opens her mouth, teeth glinting through the darkness.

 

 

Annie returns to her room, her clothes absolutely spotless. She stops in front of the calendar, counting with her eyes the days until the next feast.


	3. Reiner

He feels like one day he'll lose control of something he isn't even sure of.

 

 

He's with his comrades, joking around, smiling with them as they talk about nothing in particular, regular soldier gossip. He's always happy to participate in these conversations. Everyone forgets the Titans, don't have to think how most of them will die beyond the walls, how some of them will die uselessly, or grim things like that. Right now, they're all friends who are relaxing in their free time.

Sometimes, some of them even pull him aside for more private conversations, asking for his advice or some help. He's always glad for that too, overjoyed that he's able to help some of his fellow soldiers. It gives him great pleasure to be so helpful to them. They're all in this together, but the fact that they ask _him_ to help them out, well, it makes him feel great. He likes to be dependable and reliable. They invite him out to go drinking. He eagerly accepts --

 

Then his vision is hazy, as if he's been bashed over the head, throbbing painfully. There's something sticky on his hands, on his clothes, _everywhere._ It's too dark for him to make out what exactly it is. All he knows that it feels very familiar and comforting, like a warm fire back at the barracks. There's something on his lips. He licks them. He freezes. _Blood, why is there blood, blood, blood --_

Finally, when he looks around, he sees his friends. All of them are mangled beyond recognition, limps torn apart, entrails spewed everywhere. The only way he's able to even recognize them are their clothes, at least the ones that aren't completely drenched in blood. There's a torn head, eyeballs missing, pieces of flesh missing in patches, face twisted in terror not unlike the expressions everyone had when they fought the Titans. It's staring _exactly at him._ He feels his own insides turn.

What happened to his comrades? Were they attacked? How is he the only one alive? He needs to get help, needs to figure out what happened here.

Footsteps. He looks up. It's Bertolt coming over. Bertolt would definitely help him, Bertolt --

 

It's dark when he comes to. He feels groggy and moves his hands to rub his eyes -- except he can't. There's something tying him down. Rough leather strap his legs and arms to... something. He thrashes, struggling to get his binds off but even with his strength, they're secured tightly, as if knowing how powerful he was. He realizes why it's dark. There's a blindfold over him. Then he feels the gag over on him as well. He can't scream, escape, or do anything.

He doesn't know what happens, but he feels so weak all of a sudden. He's sure he hasn't been struggling for that long, but why does it feel like all his strength's been drained? He's so tired, so lethargic, so _hungry._ His body tenses when he hears footsteps but relaxes. Those footsteps. Bertolt. Bertolt would help him.

He hears a door open and quietly close. There's soft padding, eventually stopping next to him. He's shouting Bertolt's name, even if it's muffled behind the gag, wants him to help him, wants him to release him. He feels a soft touch on his forehead instead. The familiar touch calms him down, Bertolt whispering to him soothingly, as if calming down a wild animal. Carefully, the gag on his mouth is removed but he can't say anything. He's breathing heavily. His throat's dry. He feels like something burning through his stomach as if in anticipation. It hurts.

He hears shuffling and realizes that Bertolt's standing over him now. He feels something wet drip onto his mouth. His throat is so dry that he instinctively opens it. He almost spits it out. It's not water. It's -- he realizes what it is as he licks his lips. Blood? What's going on? _Why is Bertolt feeding him this?_ Before he can protest, his mouth is roughly shoved open and in the next instant, he feels something in his mouth and then his mouth is closed, a hand on his chin and head. He has to chew to stop himself from choking.

It's something raw, slimy, soft, marinated in blood, and _so delicious._ He can't help but chew, even if his mind is screaming at him to spit it out. Where did Bertolt get this? As he chews and swallows, even if he's crying inside with how wrong it is, he can't help but feel so satisfied with every bite. When he's done eating, he opens his mouth widely. Bertolt carefully feeds him more. He reaches up with his mouth, eager for more. He doesn't realize how much his mouth is watering, savoring the pieces of flesh as they go into his mouth, saliva and blood dripping down his face.

No, no, this is wrong. This isn't what humans do. It takes all of his concentration, but he begins to thrash. The blindfold's wet with his tears. No, he can't be doing this, _this is so wrong, so delicious, **no it's wrong**_. He needs to break free. Bertolt's crying, he needs to help him, needs to --

 

 

Reiner wakes up, feeling much more refreshed than he's ever felt before. He doesn't quite remember what happened last night, but as he dresses into his uniform, he figures it must have been good.


	4. Bertolt

All he can think is how much he wants to _go home._

Everything is so different in here. Even though they're all humans, he can't help but feel uncomfortable, like he doesn't belong and he never will no matter how hard he tries. It doesn't help that ever since coming into the walls he's had to repress his appetite and the hunger burns deep inside to the point of intolerable sometimes. It was so simple outside. There are no willing sacrifices here except for the truly depraved.

He still can't get over how different everything is, can't adjust as well as the other two did. He can't become a real human soldier, can't pretend to be something he isn't, not with the way he stares at people and wonders how much he wants to sink his teeth into their flesh.

He has to stop and remind himself that he's within the walls, that everything in here is enemy territory. He tries to act aloof but he knows he's more timid and afraid. It doesn't stop the other trainees from befriending him and he slowly begins to open up. It's the worst mistake he's made.

He'll never be like them, not when they don't know the reason he doesn't look at them directly is because he's afraid he won't be able to stop himself from tearing into them. He wishes they'd leave him alone so he wouldn't have to think of the inevitable day where he'll slay many of his friends and how he'll be struck down in the end. He doesn't want to see anyone else die, but even he knows that's a dream that's impossible. Instead, he dreams of being able to leave the walls and having everyone forget him instead. It's unfair of him.

He's not worth remembering, other than being the monster that destroyed everyone's dreams.

 

 

It's been a long while since the last time. It shows in how he's feeling much more anxious and restless. He wants to get this over with as soon as he can, but he can't rush it, not this time. He can't savor his meal because he needs to save some for Reiner. His friend still needs to be sane enough to keep up appearances.

He waits in the alleyway, even though it's hard to hide when he's so tall. But sometimes, it's used to his advantage. There are too many dissident people who hate the soldiers and always take the chance to call them out, even when the very same soldiers are dying to keep them safe. It's one of the few things that make him feel disgusted about the humans inside the walls. These people, he feels less guilty about.

He hears footsteps down the alley. He tries to look as meek as possible, not hard given how he normally is. The footsteps creep closer and he reflexively looks away, avoiding looking into the other man's eyes as he resolutely keeps his eyes down. All he sees are the man's fingers, the fattest he's ever seen yet. His stomach growls noisily.

_Don't look at his face, don't look at his face._ He still keeps his gaze trained downward even when the man launches into a spiel about how useless the soldiers are and how useless he is for being a spineless piece of trash and how he deserves to starve, laughing at him. He doesn't mind the insults because what he calls himself is much worse anyway.

It's only when the man tries to spit in his face that he finally springs into action. He quickly moves behind the man, grabbing him in a chokehold, pressing against his throat tightly. The man makes gargled noises, saliva running down his mouth, dirtying the uniform. It's dangerous, but he can't help but close his eyes every time, can't help that feeling of guilt even if this man doesn't deserve it from him. Finally, the man stops thrashing, his body limp now. It feels like forever when he opens his eyes and remembers why he's here in the first place.  
  
He makes sure to lay the man face down, carefully keeping his eyes away from his head. It's much easier when he doesn't have a face to associate the carcass in front of him with. It takes everything he has to not rip into the man, still feeling anger at his words, fueled by the pain of his hunger. As quickly as he can, he carves up the body, sectioning them off, trying to resist picking up any stray pieces to snack on. He has to do something different this time though, something he finds unpleasant.  
  
Carefully, he tries to get as much as blood as he can into a small bowl, something he can hide under his jacket. It takes all of his willpower to not drink it for himself. Next, he cuts pieces of the man's innards and drops them into the bowl. When he feels like he has enough, he uses another rag to wipe the exterior clean and he covers it. He puts it off to the side, making sure nothing will spill it over. The bowl's too small to really take back anything substantial, and any bigger would be too suspicious and wasteful. Reiner can only be held down for so long as well.

Even if he feels tears in his eyes, he can't help his anticipation and excitement as he looks back at the rest of the corpse. He picks up a finger, savoring how plump they are. It's good that it's been a while since the last time. Bones are much easier to discard after all.

 

 

Bertolt hates it when he's full because he can't use his hunger as a distraction anymore. Amongst all the things that have already gone wrong though, the only solace he has is that at least there's an abundance of food.


End file.
